James Chase - Hit and Run

I sat down and lit a cigarette.

‘Have you thought about this business, Lucille?’ I asked, abruptly. ‘Has it occurred to you that there are one or two odd things about it?’

She stiffened, looked up, her eyes question-marks.

‘What do you mean?’

‘For one thing I can’t understand what this speed cop was doing on that road. It’s no better than a dirt track and it is scarcely ever used. Why should he be down there?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘He must have been there for some reason. I can’t imagine he expected to catch any speeding motorist down there. Haven’t you any suggestions to make why he should have been there?’

‘No. I don’t see that it matters.’

‘Don’t you? I do. Well, all right, let’s leave it for now. It’s something I intend to look into. Let’s go over the whole thing together. After our swim, you returned to the car, changed and left your swimsuit on the floor of the car. Right?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you see anyone while you were doing this?’

‘No, of course not. There wasn’t anyone there.’

‘But there must have been. This man who telephoned just now must have been watching us. How else could he have known we swam together? As far as I can remember there was absolutely no cover anywhere except that clump of palm trees where we sat, and yet he must have been there.’

‘I didn’t see anyone.’

‘Yet he must have been there. I think I’ll go down and take a look at the ground in daylight. He must have hidden somewhere there. It beats me where he could have been, though. There’s no cover as far as I can remember.’ I paused, then went on: ‘Has it occurred to you that after you had left the swim-suit in the car, this man might have turned up and taken it.’

She stared at me.

‘No, it hadn’t.’

‘If he took it while we were quarrelling, it could mean, of course, that he doesn’t know the car is damaged.’

‘But the garage door was forced—that was when he took it.’

‘Yes, I was forgetting that. All right, let’s go on: what happened when you returned to the car and drove away?’

‘I was upset. I drove up the road. After I had gone about a mile I heard a man shout…’

‘Don’t let’s rush this, Lucille. How fast were you driving?’

‘Fast. I don’t exactly know how fast.’

‘Seventy—eighty? It’s important.’

‘Perhaps seventy. I don’t know.’

‘You didn’t see O’Brien? You had no idea you had passed him?’

‘No.’

‘You had driven a mile, then you heard him shouting?’

‘Yes.’

‘You must have passed him on the road, then. He must have been waiting there with his headlamp off, and as you went past, he came after you.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Then what happened?’

She moved restlessly.

‘I told you. I heard him shout and I swerved. I heard a bang against the side of the car.’

‘You didn’t hear the motor-cycle engine?’

‘I think I did.’

‘You slackened speed?’

‘I lost control of the car. I was startled. I think I must have increased speed.’

‘He came up beside you. Did he come up on your on-side or on your off-side?’

She hesitated, frowning.

‘I don’t remember.’

‘Did you see him as he came alongside you?’

‘I saw the light from his headlamp, that startled me and made me swerve.’

‘Now think: was the light on your off-side?’

Again she hesitated, then she said: ‘Yes. He came up and shouted through the window. Yes, I remember now.’

I stared at her. She sat forward, looking away from me, her hands gripped tightly between her knees.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, of course I am.’

‘But you weren’t a moment ago.’

‘I am now. It was on my off-side. I am sure of it.’

Was she deliberately lying or was she sincerely making a mistake? The damage to the car had been on the on-side. O’Brien couldn’t have come up on her off-side.

‘You can’t be right, Lucille. The on-side lamp was smashed. He must have been on your on-side, and besides, he just wouldn’t have come up behind you on your off-side. It would be inviting an accident.’

Blood flowed into her face, and then as quickly, went away, leaving her white and taut.

‘Then why did you ask me if you knew all the time?’ she said angrily. ‘I don’t remember which side it was.’

I studied her, then shrugged.

‘Okay, let it go. You hit him anyway. What happened after you heard the bang?’

She looked away, her face sullen.

‘I drove on.’

‘It was a pretty violent collision?’

‘Yes.’

‘You had no doubt that you had hit him?’

‘Of course I knew I had hit him.’

‘You lost your head, accelerated and drove on without stopping to see if he was hurt?’

She lifted her hair off her shoulders with an exasperated movement.

‘Do you have to keep on and on like this? I’ve told you what happened.’

‘I must get this straight, Lucille. You kept on and reached the main road. Then what did you do?’

‘I realized I must have damaged the man’s motor-cycle and I had also damaged your car. I was frightened. I thought I’d better tell you. I didn’t want to go back in case I met the policeman, so I decided to go to your place and wait for you.’

I lit another cigarette while I stared at her. She kept her eyes lowered and I could see she was very tense.

‘How did you know where I lived?’ I asked.

She stiffened.

‘I—I had looked you up in the telephone book,’ she said, speaking slowly and deliberately as if to give herself time to think. ‘I—I once passed your place when I was out cycling. I knew where you lived.’

I had an uneasy feeling she wasn’t telling me the truth.

‘You had to drive a mile and a half before you reached the road that leads here. Did you pass any car while you were coming here?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Are you quite sure about that?’

‘I don’t remember passing any.’

‘I think you must have, Lucille. After all it’s a highway. The time was around half past ten. There must have been a number of cars on the road.’

‘I didn’t notice any.’

‘I think you must have passed at least one car, Lucille.’

‘Suppose I did?’ Her voice shot up. ‘I tell you I didn’t notice any, but suppose I did? What does it matter?’

‘You were driving with only one light: the other light was smashed. An approaching motorist, seeing you, would think you were driving a motor-cycle until he was close enough to see you were driving a car. He would remember that.’

She moved impatiently.

‘So what does it matter?’

‘It does. If the car was seen and remembered, the police will know in which direction you were travelling. It will tell them you weren’t leaving town. That’s the one thing they can’t be sure about: whether the car that killed O’Brien left town before the road blocks were set up. If you were seen, the police will know where to look for the car. Instead of having to search the whole town, they will know the first place to look is on the coast roads-right here!’

If possible, her face went a shade paler than it was already.

‘Oh! I hadn’t thought of that’

‘That’s the main reason why I’m asking all these questions. Will you please try to concentrate? It’s more than important. Can’t you remember if you passed any cars?’

She shook her head helplessly.

‘I can’t remember. All I was thinking about was getting to your place.’

‘At least you must remember if you met any cars on this road.’

‘I’m sure I didn’t.’

Thinking about it, it seemed to me the situation was pretty bad. She must have passed a number of cars on the highway. Someone must have noticed she was driving with only one headlamp. Sooner or later this someone would remember and report to the police, and then the search would concentrate on the district where I lived.